by Leah Cypess
And even through her revulsion, she couldn’t help admiring the grace and cleanness of their spells, the taut focus of the magic, barely a spark of energy wasted.
Finally, Lis cried out, and Karyn clapped her hands again.
“Enough,” she said. “You both made the same mistake. Can you tell me what it was?”
Cyn and Lis kept their eyes locked on each other. Blood dripped from both their arms. And everyone else just stood there, watching them as if nothing was wrong.
“Well?” Karyn snapped. “It’s not exactly the first time you’ve made the mistake. What was it?”
“I’d say it was pitting them against each other in the first place,” Evin observed.
Karyn looked at him. “You have something to say?”
Her expression could have shriveled grass, but Evin just lifted one shoulder. “Nothing that would do any good, I’m sure.”
“Then please don’t bother.” Karyn looked again at the twins. “Well?”
Lis and Cyn glared at each other stubbornly. The silence was broken only by the sound of blood hitting the stone in a series of uneven splats, until Ileni couldn’t take it anymore. She pulled up the power that wasn’t hers, curled her fingers into a well-practiced pattern, and muttered a few words.
Lis gasped, but this time it wasn’t in pain. She lowered her bloodstained arm and blinked at it. Cyn snapped her head around.
Ileni couldn’t help smiling. Not at their shock—she hadn’t been at all sure how they would react—but at the ease with which she had wielded those long-ignored skills. It was like stretching a muscle that had been cramped for months.
Even though she knew how wrong and treacherous that magic was. Even though it had almost killed her less than an hour ago.
Karyn stepped toward her. “What did you do?”
“Healed their cuts,” Ileni said. “I’m sorry if bleeding to death was supposed to be part of the lesson.”
“We weren’t in danger of bleeding to death,” Lis snapped.
“You’re welcome,” Ileni said sweetly.
Karyn stalked forward. She passed a hand over Cyn’s arm, and a surge of power made the bloodstains vanish. Karyn grabbed Cyn’s wrist, yanked it upward, and stared at her smooth, unblemished skin as if she had never seen an arm before.
A chuckle next to her made Ileni glance sideways. Evin was grinning openly. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“I’m glad they provide you with so much amusement,” Ileni said tightly.
Evin cocked his head to the side. “So am I.”
Karyn dropped Cyn’s arm and strode over to Ileni. “How did you do that?”
“Um,” Ileni said. “There’s this thing called magic—”
“Do it again.”
“How—”
Twin surges of power from Karyn, and blood welled again from both twins’ arms.
“Hey,” Cyn snapped, but a glance from Karyn silenced her.
Ileni choked. “What is wrong with you?”
“Heal them,” Karyn said. “I want to pay closer attention to the spell this time.”
The healing spell to close and knit skin was a relatively simple one; the Renegai used it for everything from paper cuts to difficult childbirths. But it had taken Ileni a year to learn the basics of magical healing, before she had been allowed to start attempting spells. Karyn was an experienced sorceress, but even she wouldn’t grasp it from one demonstration. How many times would the twins rip each other’s skin open so Ileni could heal them?
She didn’t really wonder. Once she had seen a boy leap from a window to his death, at the command of his master and in service to a greater cause. Why shouldn’t the imperial sorcerers have the same dedication, the same blind obedience?
“No,” Ileni said.
Karyn’s face went very still. “You are not a guest here.”
“I thought I was a student,” Ileni said. “Not a teacher.”
“I didn’t realize—”
“That I had anything worth teaching?”
Silence. The loudest sound was the twins’ harsh breathing. Karyn’s fingers twitched.
“I’ll teach you,” Ileni said. “But not like this. Step by step, the way I learned.”
She felt power coil around Karyn, and knew Karyn could sense the power rising within her. She had no doubt that if it came to a fight, Karyn would win. Ileni didn’t know the first thing about combat magic.
The plateau was dead silent. Over Karyn’s shoulder, Lis’s face was chalk white, her jaw clenched. Cyn leaned back, eyes flickering speculatively between Karyn and Ileni.
“All right,” Karyn said finally, and the power within her drained slowly away. “In the mornings, then, before breakfast. Just you and me, to start.”
Ileni blinked, so startled she held onto the power for a moment longer—a moment that made Evin draw in his breath audibly—before letting it go.
“Is that acceptable?” Karyn asked acidly.
It was, but it didn’t make sense. Karyn had all the control here. She could banish Ileni from the Academy with a word. Why was she agreeing so easily?
She must really want to learn healing magic.
Or she must really want Ileni at the Academy.
Karyn gestured at Evin without waiting for Ileni’s answer, and he walked to the center of the plateau, brow furrowed. Lis, for some reason, smirked as she strolled over to stand next to Ileni.
It was only when Evin and Cyn were halfway through their next sparring match that Ileni wondered: How would her people feel about her teaching Renegai magic to imperial sorcerers?
Well, if her people found out any number of the things she had done since leaving her village to serve as tutor to the assassins, they would exile her forever and speak her name in horrified whispers. Besides, if she decided to be the weapon she had been designed to be—if, in the end, she fulfilled Absalm’s plans and became the Renegai who toppled the Empire—it wouldn’t matter. Anything else would be not just forgiven, but forgotten.
Evin and Cyn took longer to get through their combat, because each was defending as well as attacking. Evin leaned back slightly, eyes half-lidded, while Cyn stood straight as a rod, face grim, her arm a patchwork of drying blood. After ten minutes, neither had harmed the other, though Ileni could feel the thrusts and parrying of power between them, the feints and blocks. This, presumably, was how the exercise was supposed to go.
Lis stood to the side, pressing a cloth against the cut on her arm. Ileni hesitated, then whispered to her, “I can heal—”
“You can get away from me,” Lis snapped.
Ileni blinked. Lis lifted her hand and made a gesture that Ileni had never seen before, but that didn’t need interpretation.
It would be my pleasure. Too late to say it, though. Apparently, Ileni had gotten so used to being on the receiving end of implacable hatred that she had forgotten how to deal with petty spite.
That probably should have made Lis’s scorn sting less.
Cyn grunted, and Ileni returned her attention to the fight. A red line ran up Cyn’s arm—barely more than a scratch, a trickle of blood forming a thin dash against the back of her wrist.
“Very good,” Karyn said, “Did any of you see how he did that?”
“By being ten times more powerful than Cyn?” Lis suggested.
Cyn narrowed her eyes at her sister. Then she glanced at Karyn and shrugged. “That would be my guess, too.”
“But he held back for most of the fight, then brought the double-point spell to bear on a weak spot in Cyn’s defense.” Karyn put her hands on her hips. “It’s not how much power you have. It’s how you use it. Remember that.”
“Pay attention, Lis,” Cyn said. “She’s talking to you.”
Lis gave her sister a look that, had it been a spell, would have scorched a hole through her chest.
“Next,” Karyn said, “Ileni can spar with me.”
Danger prickled up Ileni’s spine, but the magic surging through
her wiped it out. She was fairly sure she could show these sorcerers a trick or two. Rehearsing a spell in her mind, she stepped forward.
“That’s all right,” Evin said. “It’s my turn, according to the rules. I’ll spar with you.”
Karyn shook her head. “That was a long match. You must be tired.”
“And I’ll never be tired in battle?” Evin shrugged. “Besides, I hear it’s not how much power I have. It’s how I use it.”
“Let’s see if that’s true.” Lips pressed together, Karyn gestured at Cyn. She stepped away, and Karyn took her spot.
The combat between Evin and Karyn was longer and more complicated than anything that had come before. Nothing visible happened, but Ileni felt spells and counterspells weaving through the air between the combatants. Both muttered fast and furiously, their hands forming intricate patterns in the air. Cyn and Lis stood several yards from Ileni, watching.
The match finally ended with a victory Ileni didn’t catch, though she heard Evin’s grunt and Karyn’s triumphant exhale. The two stepped back from each other and inclined their heads. A strand of Karyn’s hair was plastered against her cheek, dark with sweat.
“That’s enough for today,” Karyn said. “Practice mental pathways in your rooms. Lis, you need to work on your defenses. Cyn, I will show you what you did wrong at the beginning of your match. Evin, I will stop by to make sure you’re doing what you’re supposed to and to administer punishment when I find out that you’re not.”
Her gaze moved to Ileni, who stiffened. But Karyn just nodded and vanished.
“Well, well.” Evin let out a low whistle. “Congratulations, Ileni. It’s not every day we get to see Karyn surprised.”
“What is she?” Ileni blurted.
Three surprised pairs of eyes turned on her. Ileni flushed. “I mean—is she the master of the Academy?”
“The emperor is the master of the Academy,” Lis said, as if to a child. “Karyn is the head teacher.”
“Which is, practically, the same thing,” Evin added. “Since the emperor is rather far away and has other things on his mind.”
Ileni had always been told that at the time of the exile, the emperor was merely a figurehead, and the Empire was truly controlled by the Academy. Judging by Cyn’s dismissive snort, that was still true four hundred years later.
“But how can Karyn be head teacher,” Ileni said, “when she doesn’t even have power of her own?”
Lis’s voice was like acid. “We all try to pretend that doesn’t matter.”
“We have lodestones to spare.” Evin’s voice was wary, which Ileni could already tell was unusual for him. “It’s skill that matters, not power.”
“Easy for you to say,” Lis said, but suddenly she didn’t sound spiteful. She sounded weary. “The head teacher of the Academy never has her own power. This way, she serves at the emperor’s sufferance. He gave her the magic, and he can take it away.”
A breeze blew across the plateau, cooling Ileni’s flushed face and rustling her hair. Cyn lifted her face to it. “In theory,” she murmured. “The current emperor would never dare.”
“There aren’t many people who have enough power to be worth training,” Lis added, crossing her arms over her chest. “People with small amounts of power can’t do much with it, anyhow. But those of us without any power at all can draw it from a lodestone, as much as we’re capable of holding and using.”
“Which,” Cyn said smugly, “is more for some people than for others.”
“But . . .” Ileni couldn’t find words for her horror. “Don’t you . . . don’t you mind?”
Evin’s eyes darted to her swiftly, and away, and Ileni wished fervently that she had thought before she spoke. The last thing she wanted was to give away just how much she minded. She was done with being pitied.
Cyn laughed. “I can’t answer that for you, and neither can Evin. But Lis . . .”
Lis made a rude gesture at her sister.
Cyn blew her a kiss, then turned her attention back to Ileni. “Right now, the only advanced sorcerers with their own power are me and Evin. Is it more common among your people?”
“Is it . . .” Ileni was still struggling to catch up. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
Lis snorted. “I guess that’s what happens when most of the sorcerers in the Empire go off to the mountains and spend a few hundred years inbreeding.”
“There used to be more of us,” Cyn said. “But not many. I’m told there are a couple of fourth-levels, and even more second-levels, who might have enough power to be worth training. But most of our sorcerers rely on lodestones. It’s more efficient that way, really.”
She sounded absolutely sincere, but her words passed through Ileni’s mind like a swift breeze, too foreign to leave an impression.
“You obviously don’t have your own magic anymore.” Cyn said it casually, but Ileni flinched. “It really doesn’t matter. You’ll see.” She flicked a strand of hair away from her face. “But it does mean you had better stay on Karyn’s good side—which means doing as you’re told. Let’s go.”
She walked off the end of the plateau and lifted gracefully into the air. Lis watched her sister fly away, then held a hand out to Ileni. Her expression was indecipherable. “You can fly with me.”
“How will that—”
Lis turned her arm over. Her forearm was covered with a faint tracing of scars that Ileni hadn’t noticed before. Set into the underside of her thick bracelet was a small round globe with colors swirling in its depths.
“Lodestones to spare, remember? I’ve got my own portable source of magic.” Her tone was bitter. “This stone is almost drained, which is why you can’t feel it. But get close enough and you should be able to borrow some.”
Ileni could feel the magic coming from the stone, but only faintly; Lis was soaking it up through her skin, leaving nothing Ileni could have grasped. Even if she wanted to. She bit her lip. “Did you lose your own magic?”
Lis’s laugh was more than just slightly bitter. “Cyn and I are twins, but we aren’t very alike. I never had any.”
Like Karyn. People who would never have tasted magic on their own, being trained to use power stolen from others.
Ileni pulled her arm back to her side. “Thank you. But I think I’ll use the bridge.”
Lis pivoted and flung herself upward, a swirl of white cloth and black hair.
“Go,” Ileni snapped at Evin. She wanted desperately to be alone. “You don’t have to wait for me.”
“That’s good to know,” Evin said, “since I wasn’t planning to.”
Within seconds, he had caught up to the two girls, looping and curling elaborately through the air. Tears stung the backs of Ileni’s eyes, and she turned away, not wanting to admire the grace and joy of his body in flight.
It was just as well that she had fallen. How close she had come to forgetting that this magic wasn’t hers. That just because something felt good, didn’t mean it was good.
That she wasn’t whole, and never would be again.
The bridge swayed unsteadily as she walked, death yawning below her on both sides. Fragments of mist swirled far beneath her feet, drifting across the distant green treetops. Far ahead, she saw two white figures touch down on the mountainside and a third swoop effortlessly around the bridge.
Ileni set her jaw and walked, placing her feet slowly and carefully on the slats and keeping her hands tight around the rails.
When she got to her room, there was something new there. A mirror, large and oval, standing in the corner on an ornate silver stand.
Ileni recognized that mirror.
She walked over and touched it, tentatively, as if Sorin was still watching from the smooth glass. But she saw only her own face, wide brown eyes and trembling chin, and the fingertips she touched were her own.
Sorin.
The remnants of the spell he had used to reach her shimmered in the glass. The portal was still there. Given enough power, she could open it again.
And she had all the power she could ever want.
But someone had brought the mirror here. Who, and why? Did someone want her to reopen the portal, to talk to Sorin?
She could. It would take just a few minutes, and she would be talking to him, watching his rare, subtle smile warm his face. Reminding her that somewhere, far away from this world of stolen power and lodestones, she was loved. If she opened the portal far enough, she could step right through and touch him. . . .
Her fingers pressed hard on the glass. She curled them into a fist and made her way to the bed. She had nothing to say to the new master of the assassins.
Not yet.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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That night, Ileni couldn’t sleep. A cold ache spread through her chest, painful and deeply familiar. Even though, a mere half year ago, she’d had no idea that loneliness could actually hurt.
She reached for thoughts of Sorin, but that only made the empty feeling deepen. Even with him, she had felt alone. He had always been half her enemy. But he had eased the loneliness anyhow, if only by distracting her from it.
Odd that the excitement of having magic couldn’t do the same.
A sob pushed its way up her throat, and she forced it down. She sat up abruptly, making the glowstones flicker.
She reached for magic. The power was easy to grasp, to pull in and around herself. The magic swirled through her, making her feel both safe and tainted.
And bringing home the true import of what she had learned that day.
She had told Sorin she was leaving to find out if the imperial sorcerers were evil—and she had hoped, deep down, that they were. That her choice would be clear and simple and totally right.
That she and Sorin would be on the same side.
But back in the caves, she hadn’t known that most of the sorcerers weren’t true sorcerers at all. That their power came almost entirely from lodestones.
All her life, she had thought the Empire was invincible, a destructive force. And maybe it was. But it was also a tottering edifice, propped up by the lodestones. If she destroyed the lodestones, she could tip over that edifice.